


Public Relations

by meredyd



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meredyd/pseuds/meredyd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This event is the most important social occasion in Republic City,” Asami replies. “For some reason."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Relations

“Ms. Sato! Ms. Sato! Look over here, please! Ms. Sato, can you tell us what it’s like to _date the Avatar_?”

“Ms. Sato, who are you wearing?”

“Ms. Sato! Ms. Sato!” shouts a reporter Asami isn’t sure is old enough to have a job. “Ms. Sato, when do you think the Avatar is going to put a ring on it?”

Korra looks at Asami, a withering glance that telegraphs her desire to be dead.

“You know we have to do things like this,” Asami says under one hand, gloved in deep red silk. “Or do you want them to call me a recluse like Varrick? It’s part of my job.”

“Is _that_ a part of your job?” Korra says, and Asami follows where she’s pointing. A woman dressed entirely in different-colored feathers is sashaying through the ballroom of the museum with a glass of champagne in each hand. “I thought out first Big Public Appearance could be at, I don’t know, the re-opening of that cart that sells meat on a stick.”

“This event is the most important social occasion in Republic City,” Asami replies. “For some reason. You know better than anyone that people expect certain things from you.”

“This is worse than being _poisoned_ ,” hisses Korra, and Asami bursts out laughing, so hard she drops her wrap and her bag. The cameras all snap at once.

—

Meelo runs through the kitchen screaming, deposits the Republic City Herald on Korra's lap, and runs out again, still screaming.

“It turned out to be kind of fun,” says Korra, who, Asami notes, seems remarkably alert for someone who drank five soju sunrises in quick succession. Her feet are propped up on the table. “I like the picture. It looks like you…you, and not some fancy version of you.”

Asami takes the paper from her and squints at it. She hadn’t even noticed she’d grabbed Korra’s hand, or the white-knunckled tightness with which she was holding onto it.


End file.
